Her Song
by The Deepest Wells
Summary: "The awful one is the punk who left you." A one-shot regarding Ji Eun Tak's father (not AU, but could be seen that way), and how the Dokkaebi became a part of his bride's life before she was born. Let me know if I should make this concept into a full story. :) Thanks!


**Welcome to my story! :) This was written in a grand total of 10 minutes because I have other projects I want to work on as well as a lot of competitions to prepare for. This has been listed in my profile page as an idea, and I'm curious as to whether or not I want to turn Tae Song/Yeon-hee into a full story, with Kim Shin more heavily involved or whatever. Let me know what you think, and if you would like to see more background on Eun Tak's father. Thanks so much for reading! :)**

"The awful one is the punk who left you."

Ji Yeon-hee shrugged, stung by Granny's words more than she wanted to let on. An image of Ji Tae Song's face flashed through her mind, when he would give her a loving stare and tell her she looked more beautiful than heaven itself. "Well, I guess you're right," she said. Then she changed the subject. "It really is a romantic, sad story, though: I mean, he has to find his bride in order to rest in peace."

She picked up one of Granny's various jewelry boxes and sifted through it. She found an archaic jade ring; it had jeweled flowers on the top, like her wedding ring she threw into the street when she realized Tae Song wasn't coming back. Why did she have to marry him, own and possess his deep eyes, his sheepish smile, when Deity would just take him from her in such a cruel way?

"Deity is cruel," she said.

Granny snorted. "Deity _is_ cruel. He's selfish and rude. He's only ever cared about his own problems."

Yeon-hee chuckled, glad to direct the conversation away from Tae Song. Even though she hated him, deep down she'd never stopped caring for him, even when he vanished without a trace . . . without a word.

~0~

The ghost standing behind her never would have believed spirits shed tears, but now—now they flooded down his cheeks. He could see it in her eyes when Samshin mentioned Yeon-hee's abandonment: she no longer cared for him. She had enough to get by without him. But he wished he hadn't stormed out. They'd had a particularly bad fight only two days ago. He didn't kiss her goodbye; they didn't resolve then. He even threatened to throw her out, or leave himself. He'd been so awfully angry, and now he wished he could take it all back.

They never hit each other, thankfully.

No one had known they got married. As far as Tae Song knew, Yeon-hee's family assumed they were still only dating; they would accuse her of inpropriety when they found out she was expecting. No doubt she didn't know yet, but Tae Song could feel the life building in her womb, the life he had helped to create.

"Yeon-hee . . ." he whispered, his voice naught but a soft crack beyond his tears. He had just left the house from their fight when he saw a strange man in a long coat down the street. Now he recognized the man to be a Dokkaebi, but before knowing him—or trusting him—Tae Song ignored him. The Dokkaebi had a strange yearning in his eyes, and followed Tae Song through the streets for a solid ten minutes without catching up.

Tae Song had left his gaze on the Dokkaebi too long; before he knew it a car sped right, ramming into him, and a large crash ensued. He counted the cars after two of them crushed his torso: five pedestrians were killed, and there were eight vehicles involved in the collision.

The Dokkaebi had approached him with a heavy expression after he'd died.

Before the Jeosang-saja came to take Tae Song away, he had asked the Dokkaebi to look after his wife, and possibly his future child—he didn't know if she'd come to be expecting or not, but had known it to be highly likely.

"I won't know how to find them," the Dokkaebi had said dismissively.

Tae Song had her image in his mind, but he'd decided not to push it: "Just answer the call of a young woman expecting a child if she is in trouble, and I will count it as enough."

Now he wept, watching her retreat down the street after her dismissal of his memory before the goddess Samshin. He now knew what he told the Dokkaebi had been true, and now—if she needed it—a soft-hearted Creator would hear her.

He wandered back to the Jeosang-saja's teahouse and knocked.

"I'm ready," he said when he lifted the handle and opened the door. The saja stood there and beckoned him inside.

Before Tae Song drank his tea, more tears flowed. He glanced outside and saw the Dokkaebi. The creature did not more than incline his head, perhaps a gesture of respect, and turn away.

Tae Song's doubts lifted. He said one last prayer for Yeon-hee and the young child he only could have guessed would be born, and lifted the cup to his lips.

He forgot his life in time. But never did he forget Yeon-hee's eyes, nor the guidance and quiet concern of the Dokkaebi on the street that day.


End file.
